


Taguig

by patriciaselina



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Author Avatar, Cross-Generational Friendship, Gen, Gratuitous Tagalog, Original Character(s), Self-Insert Fic, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:22:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patriciaselina/pseuds/patriciaselina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on the cabinpres_fic DW, for what is basically a self-insert fic (http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/4885.html?thread=8238357#cmt8238357). One thing led to another, and lo and behold, I offer you this monstrosity. Which eventually has to be split in two parts.</p><p>With neither answered call nor possessed wallet, Captain Martin Crieff ends up in the care of a Taguig university, where an English professor sets about contacting MJN Air, and an Accounting sophomore treats him to <i>merienda</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because I cannot for the life of me imagine myself in Fitton, no matter how hypothetical the situation, and there is a way Martin can be imagined in Taguig, despite how outlandish the reason would be!

**_1030_ **

“Carolyn. Carolyn. Carolyn, for the love of all that is good and holy, answer your blasted phone!” Martin had been calling for what seemed to be hours now, mind growing antsier and antsier with every missed call. He even tacked on an earnest “please,” as if the world would make Carolyn pick up just because he said so.

The flight had been simple enough. A Filipino delegate was going home from an apparently grueling scientific scholarship program, and was going home to continue his work on...recycling things, was as far as Martin gleaned from what his employer had told them.

Upon touchdown, on the other hand, things got a bit difficult. The scientist had said that he needed someone to stay with him until he got to the department, because apparently he had been holding important papers that, if divulged to unsavoury sources, could be detrimental to his project.

Why the poor bloke had chosen Martin for protection, and not the cleverer, grudgingly more imposing Douglas, was a mystery.

And why said bloke had forgotten about his temporary companion's existence was another.

And this was exactly the reason why a certain Captain Crieff, with no companion nor – whoa, now that was fast – wallet, found himself wandering aimlessly on the sidewalks, hoping for someone – _anyone_ – who could stop and actually listen to him.

Martin only really realized where his feet have brought him when someone seemed to call out something intended for him.

“ _Sino ho kayo?_ ” [1]

There was a burly tan–skinned man blocking what may have been an entrance, looking at him with a mix of confusion and annoyance. Martin did not know this country's language, and nor did he think any of these locals was going to help this strange little foreign boy.

(They would, but then again he didn't know that at the time.)

The airline captain stammered and was just about to say something when someone else's voice strung him out of his reverie. “Hello there, sir.” The man behind the security guard had glasses and a nice button–down, and Martin could swear the man was batting his eyelashes at him. “How may we help you?”

“I, err, well, hello.” Martin bites his lip, and finally decides to straighten his posture, hide his apprehension behind his best 'Sir' voice. “My name is Captain Martin Crieff of MJN Air. I just flew here from Fitton, and I have to say, well, unfortunately,” Martin raises a hand to his nape, toying with his curls in embarrassment. “I am a bit lost, as you may have seen.”

“You poor dear.” Now Martin was _definitely_ sure the man was fluttering eyelashes at him. “Don't worry, come on in, let's see how we can help. We'll need your ID though, Captain...?”

“Okay, thank you.” His identification was switched for a visitor's card, which upon further scrutiny made him realize that he had ended up in a university. The logo was an encircled star in gold and scarlet, and the name formed an acronym that would've made Arthur very happy – PUP.

When they were inside, the man walked so close to Martin it almost felt like they were touching; but then again, Martin really wasn't in the place to complain. “So, Captain Crieff. You've come from NAIA, I take it?”

“Terminal 1, in fact.” The captain made an exhausted huff. He'd been through lots of crowded airports during his short career, but he could never get used to the unique hustle and bustle of what was apparently “Asia's worst”. It was charming, sure, in it's own way, but...unbelievably tiring. “I was supposed to bring our client to the nearby Department of Science and Technology – that was what it's called, right?” The man nodded, so Martin went on. “But unfortunately, the client left me and I fear someone had recently swiped my wallet.” Not as if there was much in there anyway – just a small wad of bills, small enough for a taxi cab, thank heavens he kept his identification on other parts of his person at all times. “I've been calling my first officer and my employer but they are not picking up, so, as you may see, I am utterly and terrifyingly lost.”

“Hmm, a shame, I guess. That your first hours in our country had to be spent that unsatisfyingly.” The man – a teacher, maybe, judging from the books under his arm – shook his head wearily as he gestured Martin up the stairs. “Do not worry, Captain, and leave contacting your crew to me and my fellow faculty members. We shall inform you when they finally pick up, and tell them your location.”

“Thank you, thank you very much! Mister...”

“Marquez, Captain, though you can call me John.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you, John. You can call me Martin, by the way.”

“It's nice to meet you, Martin, despite the meeting have taken place under unsavory circumstances.” John had been batting his eyelashes again, but Martin finds himself a bit less weary than he had before. “Sadly, however, I have to attend to some other matters, so I hope you do not mind that I hand you over to my students?”

“Oh, so you were teaching a class? I'm so sorry I disturbed you...”

“No worries, Martin. I have just left my students to do an activity we scheduled, long before. It just so happened to cleverly end up on the day I have to prioritize wrestling with some of the directress' very important paperwork. Contacting your cabin crew is also a priority, of course.”

“You sure I shouldn't come down there and help your co–faculty members calling them out?”

“You looked tired enough as is, Captain. No worries, this is just the world–famous Filipino hospitality. We're more than happy to help.”

“That's...nice. Really nice. Thank you.” Martin still felt rightfully embarrassed, however, and raised a hand to his nape once more. “But...would this be okay with your, err, your students?”

“Oh, I'm sure they would all be more than happy to help.” Martin didn't have his eyes on John as he replied, but the captain could swear the professor was rolling his eyes. “But no worries, once more. No, I already have a specific student in mind...”

* * *

 

**_1130_ **

“ _Oi_ , _oi_ , 2–1, do you know what Sir M...done earlier?”

 _Had been doing would've been a prettier turn of phrase_ , the young girl in the corner thought, and sighed. English–only week was her favourite but, she thought with absolutely no haughtiness whatsoever (cross her heart and hope to die), there was a reason why they didn't do it often.

“What, what? Did he pick up a BF or something?”

“I dunno 'bout boyfriends, but if I saw 'em right – I know I do – he's hot. Red hair, too. Foreigner, for sure.”

“Ooh, if only Sir M'd bring 'im up! I want to see him too.”

The little girl – very veritably a young woman, in fact – sighed and returned to re–reading her seatwork. An essay on the state of economic security wasn't her favourite thing to write, but it would be passable. She hoped so, at least.

A hush fell over the room then, and she knew the professor was the one behind the door without having to look up. If that wasn't enough to tip her off, the collective gapes of class 2–1 when the door opened was a surefire hint.

The next words her professor – dear, sweet, precious Sir M – said, however, were not at all what she had expected him to say.

“Can you come here and help me... _us_ , Selina.”

Selina was – is – her second name, but she was very definitely the only one that the professor was referring to. Amidst the inevitable cacophony of “ _sayang_ ” [2] and “ _sana_ _ako na lang_ ” [3], the girl, nonplussed, simply set her paper on the very much empty teacher's table, walked up to the pair, and closed the door (and the gossip she was sure was going to accumulate) behind her. If her professor asked for her help, she had to give it coolly and efficiently and –

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Oh _wow_.

Were eyes supposed to be that blue?

She was then thoroughly thankful that she closed the door earlier. Her classmates would never get over it if they saw her like this.

Sir M, thankfully, didn't seem to notice her sudden out–of–character bout of normal teenager–like emotion. “Selina, this is Captain Martin Crieff. Martin, this is Patricia Selina, one of my very best” – and here she really wanted to preen, but that was ridiculous and she was already kind of flushing red – “students, and I do hope you don't mind this, both of you. You see, Selina, the good captain has lost contact with his companions, and as luck would have it, we are the ones best equipped to help him. It shall take quite a while, however, and here is where I am going to need your help.”

Patricia “hmm–ed” and said nothing at all, which would thankfully be still in character. Martin – no, Captain Crieff – was looking at her with those pretty blue eyes and she did not want to turn into a disgraceful pile of melted person, thank you very much.

She even had to clear her throat before speaking, but then again faking a cold was thankfully one of her more obscure specialties. “And how, pray tell, _am_ I supposed to be of help?” A beat, and then: “Sir?”

“Oh, simple, really.” Sir M had this smile on her face that made Patricia very, very nervous. Was this going to be a test? “All I need you to do is to talk to Captain Crieff, keep him company while we scour the phone lines for his team. Martin, is this going to be okay for you?”

Martin looks at her and smiles, hoping to break the ice. “Oh, I do hope the little lady's fine with being torn from her work; if so, it's fine with me.”

The girl – _“little lady”, huh?_ – simply shook her head, still not trusting her tongue's fidelity to her thoughts.

When the professor bids them adieu, however, she just cannot help herself. She excuses herself from her companion's side with some kind of harried gesture, and catches up with Sir M, only enough to huff “why me?”

“Oh, why shouldn't it be you? You _are_ done with the essay, right?”

“Yes, but surely the others are better conversationalists than me, sir _naman_!” [4]

“Oh, _oo nga_. But here's the thing,” he beckons her closer, and whispers “ _Gusto kong may makausap naman yung kapitan na hindi siya ipipick–up_.” [5]

* * *

 

**_1135_ **

“Hmm.”

“ _Wala kang naririnig_? Words, sentences, maybe? Breathing patterns?” [6]

“I hear someone breathing, _oo. Pero yun ba yung gwapo_?” [7]

“ _Oi, patulong naman_.” [8]

“But why – _'sus ko naman o! – kailangan_?” [9]

“ _Oo, kailangan. Syempre_ , I can't reach the windows _kaya_.” [10]

“ _Hay naku! May dahilan bakit ang taas ng bintana, no_!” [11]

A short rap on the classroom door aborts the girls' mission, however.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PUP is my actual university alma mater – Polytechnic University of the Philippines. And yes, I do have an English prof named Marquez, and I do have classmates who fawn over hot foreign guys. I have not, however, gotten the opportunity to chat up a certain Captain Crieff. Unfortunately.
> 
> The strings of four numbers are supposed to refer to the time when the scene started. The next part of this fic will hopefully be the last.
> 
> [1] Sino ho kayo? – Who are you?  
> [2] Sayang – too bad; a shame, a pity  
> [3] Sana ako na lang – I wish it was me; It should have been me  
> [4] Sir naman! – Sir, come on! or basically an expression of distraught.  
> [5] Oo nga…Gusto kong may makausap naman yung kapitan na hindi siya ipipick–up. – Yes [exactly]…I want the captain to have someone to talk with who won’t flirt with him.  
> [6] Wala kang naririnig? – Can’t you hear anything?  
> [7] Pero yun ba yung gwapo? – But is that the handsome [guy]?  
> [8] Oi, patulong naman. – Hey, some help here.  
> [9] …’sus ko naman o! – kailangan? – …my God! – do you have to?  
> [10] Oo, kailangan. Syempre, I can’t reach the windows kaya. – Yes, I have to. Of course, I can’t reach the windows.  
> [11] Hay naku! May dahilan bakit ang taas ng bintana, no! – Argh! There’s a reason why the windows are so high, of course!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**_1140_ **

“I do hope you don't mind me bringing you to the balcony, Captain Crieff.”

“No, no. Patricia, wasn't it? You can call me Martin.”

“Okay. Captain _Martin_.”

“That's not what I meant...”

“I do apologize for...well. That.” Classroom walls were not easily destroyed, but they were not soundproof. Surely he had heard how much time class 2–1 was talking about who was related or going to get married with the _'gwapong dayo'_ [12]. “We don't get much foreigners around here, and despite knowing that foreigners do exist, people do still tend to treat them like apparitions. Or pixies. Or...well, basically fictional characters.”

“That's...an interesting way of putting it.”

“Last time, there was this French guy roaming the halls, and in an hour the class had already decided who was going to be his nephews, nieces, brothers and string of jealous ex–wives. Never underestimate the power of bored imagination.”

“Hmm. That's strange, but interesting to hear about, I guess. You can sit down.”

“I am sitting down.”

“Yes, you are sitting down. On the ledge.”

“Captain Martin, I am perfectly safe here and you shan't worry about it. In fact, it is the position wherein I could be dead–center in the target of the breeze – hey, wait!”

“You said it was breezier. I, well, I need all the cold I can get. Your country is warm.”

“We're in the Pacific Ring of Fire, captain. I think a little bit of warmth is necessary.”

“Just a 'little' bit?”

“Oh! Don't come here during summer, then. Your lovely uniform won't take to it.”

“Thank you.”

A beat of silence. Then two. And three.

There was a reason why Patricia did not usually take time to talk to people. She could not, for the life of her, make sense of the art of actual spoken conversation.

Come to think of it, this was also the reason why she only really took time to 'talk' to people _online_.

“– I have no idea what we are supposed to do here, sir.” A hesitant chuckle, and she can't help but sigh. “I really, really don't have a clue.”

“Well, that makes two of us, at least.” The captain grinned back at her, hesitantly. “But you've been doing a fine job of it, if you'd ask me.”

Her heart was doing a mockery of a marathon in her chest and Patricia very decidedly needed water if she wanted to go about this normally. Unfortunately, she left her wallet and her empty water bottle in the classroom, which meant... “Would you want to grab a bite? I suspect Sir M's assignment of me meant that I am already dismissed, and I have no further class hours.”

“But I...I don't have a...”

 _Wallet, yes, Captain, you can stop reaching for your pocket now_. “Oh, I insist. It is apparently my duty – and my pleasure! – to keep this visiting captain comfortable. Now, if you don't mind joining me?”

They walk side–by–side in a sort of companionable silence, until they open the door and 2–1 once more looks at them in intrigued apprehension.

Martin cannot help but raise an eyebrow. “It's as you said. Out of the frying pan.”

“And into the fire. _Charming_ , sir. You can wait outside, I can handle this level of scrutiny.”

He nods back at her and closes the door, opening the inevitable floodgates of conversation.

“Ooh! Pat, _musta naman si Mr. Pogi_ –” [13]

“ _Saan sya galing_?” [14]

“ _Saan sya papunta_?” [15]

“ _Magtuturo ba sya dito_?” [16]

“ _Oi, pakilala naman o_!” [17]

“ _Pwedeng pabigyan sya ng_ –” [18]

She very pointedly does not speak to or notice anyone, except for the muttered “good luck” a friend offered her, and the thumbs–up another friend made under the table. Taking her bag and her papers, Patricia walks out the room as if nothing has happened.

The airline captain is there to meet her at the door, predictably. “So it seems you have been left unscathed. How did you do that?”

“Simple, captain. I merely do what I always do – nothing.” She shrugs, trying to feign nonchalance. “They can't very well have something they can use against you if you don't give them anything, now can they?”

Martin laughs at that. “Oh, that makes sense. I wish I can handle situations that nicely.”

 _Oh, really huh?_ Patricia raises an eyebrow at him and smirks. “I don't handle situations 'nicely', captain. I just don't deal with them at all. I don't think that's a good thing, but it's the only way I know how.” She shrugs.

“...You're a clever girl, aren't you.”

“I try to be.” Said 'clever girl' was now untying and retying her lone ponytail, trying to distract herself. Nobody had ever called her clever before. “I do hope you're in the mood for greasy sandwiches and instant coffee, however.”

* * *

 

**_1210_ **

She gets herself a soft drink and a ham–and–egg sandwich and insists Martin get food of his own as well. Coffee and a burger-and-egg sandwich in hand, the airline captain decides to get them a table, where a companion of the feline nature sidles up to him.

“...oh.”

“I think she likes you,” Patricia muses, giving the cat on the table an amused grin. “Now, shoo!”

“Thank you. Are there always cats...”

“And dogs, and sometimes the occasional bird. The canteen seems to want to teach its patrons what happens when they're not careful with their food.” And to demonstrate, Patricia chucks a cabbage leaf the kitten's way. “Feeding them is not advised, however. But I still push my luck.”

“Push your luck in what?”

“Push my luck in hoping they won't latch to me as if I am their long–lost mother.”

“Oh, okay.” Martin sips at his coffee. “Thank you, again.”

“Don't mention it.” After all, their entire snack would've cost him around one British pound. “You are the guest, after all.”

“Thank you anyway.”

“You're too kind. And welcome.” Patricia does not, as a matter of fact, eat like any kind of lady, but she pointedly makes sure that her face is free of all traces of mayonnaise and egg yolk before once more speaking. “It's not often I get to speak to interesting people, much less interesting foreign people.”

 _Foreign people with pretty eyes and lovely hair_ , her treacherous mind added, only to be shushed by the part of her brain she lovingly called 'logical intellect'.

“Well, glad I can be of interest to you, I think.” Martin, however, eats the greasy sandwich like some kind of a gentleman, which would have made Patricia embarrassed of her table manners, or lack thereof, if she was not...well... _Patricia_. “How am I keeping up?”

The student straightens her posture and begins rattling off facts as if she was in graded recitation. “Captain Martin Crieff. Occupation: airline pilot, MJN Air. Hometown: Fitton. Age: somewhere 'round late '20s to middle '30s. Red hair, blue eyes, first seen with Sir Marquez. Most probably single, and very much more possibly very much lost.”

Martin tries not to raise an eyebrow, but he does anyway. “Did John tell you all that?”

“Nope.” She enunciates the 'p', sounding for all the world like a popping bubble. “No–one did. Nobody ever has the time to tell me anything! But I can tell you this: walls have ears, and especially so the walls of an unsupervised classroom. Like we say o'er here: _may pakpak ang balita_ – news has wings. If I want to find out about something, I just have to wait and listen for people to talk about it.” [19] She takes a sip of her softdrink, and finds it easier to talk to her unexpected guest. “Rizal said that gossip was the cancer of society, but it can be very helpful at times.”

“Oh, how observant of you, then.”

“Why. You flatter me too much, _sir_.” Patricia grins, actually grins at him, and somehow, despite being the older one in the conversation, Martin feels like the deer caught in headlights.

“How did you know that I was lost and... _single_ , though?” It was obvious that he wasn’t seeing anyone, but Martin still found it rather unbelievably sad that even complete strangers were able to easily tell he was unattached.

“Every female classmate's fantasy was banking on the probability that you were single and, as they would say, 'ready to mingle'. They also decidedly thought not to imagine otherwise.” Patricia shrugged and let out a sigh. “The lost thing's an easy one. Unless you were related to any student here – to any student in 2–1, seeing as you have been accompanied by Sir M – you won't be here, being a foreigner and all. And seeing as everyone's claim to sharing your ancestry sounds like utter flights of fancy, you won't end up at PUP if you're not related to anyone if you're not lost.”

“You didn't think I could be a visiting dignitary?” …admittedly a long shot, but he had been mistaken for worse. “Or a teacher, or something?”

“Maybe, but if a foreigner was going to teach or schedule a visit, we would have been hearing about the news for a week or two, now. Pixie apparition, remember?” She was done with the sandwich now, Martin realized, when did that happen? “Judging by the sudden nature of your visit, the remote location of our school, and you not having any relatives here, you, my dear sir, can only be lost.”

“Hmm. Like I said, clever.”

“Thank you.” She absolutely preens as he compliments her – it’s a force of habit, completely involuntary, and she hopes he did not notice. “If you don't mind, however, maybe we could talk about other things? Have you got any siblings?”

“A brother and sister.” He sips his coffee, and she can see him trying not to grit his teeth. _Ooh, rough patches in their relationship, then_. “Youngest of three.”

“I wonder how that would feel like?” Patricia muses, holding on to her soft drink bottle. “People always tell me that having elder siblings was excruciating, but then again I wouldn’t know. I was an only child for sixteen years. Now I'm the elder of two.”

Martin cannot help but gape at that. “Sixteen years?”

“His name is Hunter and he is the most glorious baby to ever exist.” Patricia grins then, for once in her element despite…well, the fact that she was freely talking about her baby brother to this foreign pilot. “Sometimes I get mistaken for his mum, though. Not the most glorious assumption to have to live through, what with being NBSB and all, but I pretty much don't have any cares to give.”

“Hmm. NBSB?”

“'No Boyfriend Since Birth', as my classmates are loath to say. I myself find no problems with it. Next topic?”

“Oh–oh, yes!” Martin should not be surprised with the breezy, straightforward way the girl takes to him, someone who would be around twenty years her senior, but he is anyway. “Courses, I guess? I'm obviously a graduate of an aviation course, but you...”

“Accountancy. Do not believe anything anyone says – it is not just MDAS and sci–cals. [20] It is hell and fire and some of Dante's Inferno and purgatory thrown in for good measure. I don't want to give up on it, however. Did you always want to be a pilot?”

Martin grins wider at that, not missing the sliver of earnest curiosity hidden behind her rapid-fire pace, and Patricia allows herself to think she must've done something good. “Very much so. Since I was six – which is good, since past me was wrong and I very much could not have been an aeroplane.”

“For what it's worth, the pilot is kind of the aeroplane, anyway. I can remember the time grandma got us to HK, and how that ride greatly differed from our return flight – a good pilot can go a pretty long way, doubly so if he's also a safe one.” She shook her head, as if willing away a memory. “The first pilot was...drunk, maybe? We were merely going too fast for comfort. Or security. It brought us there quicker, more efficiently, but my ears thank the second pilot for not being a _kaskasero_.” [21]

“ _Kas_ – _kas_...”

“For not being in a hurry.”

“Oh, okay.” For all her humility about the small canteen, the snack was rather filling, if Martin's opinion was to be counted. Then again, he already had more than enough time to living on bread and coffee. “Do you fly often?”

“Only very rarely, on the contrary.” Patricia replied. “Hong Kong was apparently a _'congratulations–on–graduating–valedictorian_ ' gift. Homesickness was probably why my aunt took me along for Singapore, both times. Have you ever gone there?”

“MJN has brought me to both, yes, though not frequently. Sad to say, I cannot, ahh, say much about either city; I usually only catch up on my reading in the hotel.”

“Oh, I know the feeling.” She waves away any apprehension with an uncertain hand gesture. “I'd be making good, exhaustive use of the complimentary internet if only my family wasn't so keen on taking me places.” Her eyes brighten suddenly, as if remembering something interesting. “Oh! There was a time in HK I told off this American guy who wanted to bully me off the net. Fun times, captain. Fun times.”

“You told off an American?” Martin raised an eyebrow, thinking how this little girl would have told off...anybody. Maybe the American was her age? “And how, pray tell, did this come to happen?”

“Don’t get me wrong, but he was old. Maybe...twenty, thirty– _ish_? Heavy–set, blond, using this tone that he probably thought sounded really imposing.” She rolls her eyes, and Martin finds himself a little amused at her nonchalance. “It only really made him sound silly. So I was checking my e–mail, like everyone else was, and all the computers were taken. American Guy walks up to me and says, really haughtily, 'Are you doing anything important?' Of course I wasn't – I was fifteen, probably checking out some wayward invite or something. But something about the guy really ticked me off. Would you like to go back to the balcony?”

“Whichever you like.” He was getting used to her speaking pace – she was, as would be expected of a young woman her age talking to an older male, rather a careful, quiet one, at first, but she managed to hold her own in a conversation, even taking charge of it – which was something he himself had difficulty doing in the face of certain people. (Read: Douglas. Carolyn.) “This...man...ticked you off how?”

“Let's say the way you're treating me now is the exact opposite of how he saw me then.” She grins at him, and he wants to ask what she meant, but she continues talking so he doesn’t have the chance to. “Don't ask how, but I figured he only chose to bother me because he thought me completely and utterly beneath him. Maybe it's because I'm a kid? Or a girl? Or a Filipino. Maybe it was all three. Easier to bully around, as society and history would have him believe. Guess I proved him wrong, then.”

“Oh, what I'd have given to have been a fly on the wall.” Despite what his age or position would have suggested, Martin was embarrassed to think that he would have folded distressingly when in such a situation. (And he _has_ been in such a situation – again, read: Douglas, Carolyn.) “You're a brave girl.”

She scoffed at that, but she wasn't entirely serious. “Bravery is a pretty word for stupidity, but I'll let it fly.” They took the staircase up, Martin following her lead of pointedly ignoring any and all stares that came their way. “I just did what I had to do.”

“There's something you said, though – how I treat you? How do I treat you?”

“Not like a child, thank the maker for that.” Her eyes narrow into slits, obviously annoyed at whatever it was she was thinking about. “Heaven knows I get enough of that as–is. I'm a college student with the height of a tall sixth–grader, and nobody really treats me seriously. But when Sir M was introducing me to you, you weren’t condescending enough to treat me like a child, and I thank you for that.”

He actually didn’t treat her like a child because he had no idea how to deal with children, but Martin decides it better she not know that.

“Don’t get me wrong, but I actually like talking to people from a different age bracket than me.” They have arrived where they first came from, the ledge overlooking the four floors of the university’s highest building. Without regard for safety or propriety, Patricia swings her legs about the ledge, sitting herself prettily on it, taking care to hold on to the outer balcony for balance. “Growing up with a family of adults who didn’t specifically take to children they weren’t related to – you can say that, ahh, that did make me a bit queer for my age. And then there were my interests, of course. Perfectly fitting for my age, but not the ones condoned by the societal climate I live in. Would it be presumptuous for me to say that the same has happened to you as well?”

“Yes, exactly…I don’t think that I had a lot of people admiring my dream to be a pilot.” Martin snorts, remembering the many times he had been mistreated for his ambitions with mild distaste. Why did nobody ever take him seriously? But that would be a question for another day, he muses. “Thank heavens nobody ever heard about my five-year-old self dreaming to be an aeroplane, God save me, they would’ve had my head.”

“…an aeroplane.” Patricia says, tone completely deadpan and face completely blank, for some reason or other. “So when you said earlier, that you wanted to be an aeroplane…you really did. You wanted to be…an _aeroplane_.”

Martin was about to say something about how he was a child and didn’t know better, but his motions were interrupted by Patricia’s sudden giggling. Granted, Martin should’ve been cross, seeing as the girl was laughing _at_ him now, but the next words she said made him follow suit.

“Interesting. When I was a little slip of a girl – _ay, naku_ – believe it or not, but I wanted to be Winnie-the-Pooh. As in, the actual silly old bear!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The translation notes continue on in numbering from the past chapter. We ended on 11 then, so starting on 12 now...
> 
> [12] gwapong dayo – handsome visitor  
> [13] …musta naman si Mr. Pogi – …how’s Mr. Handsome [coming along]  
> [14] Saan sya galling? – Where did he come from?  
> [15] Saan sya papunta? – Where is he going [to go]?  
> [16] Magtuturo ba siya dito? – Is he going to be teaching here?  
> [17] Oi, pakilala naman o! – Hey, introduce us [to him]!  
> [18] Pwedeng pabigyan siya ng – Can you give [this] to him  
> [19] The whole proverb was may tainga ang lupa, may pakpak ang balita – the land has ears and news has wings.  
> [20] sci-cals: Short for scientific calculators.  
> [21] kaskasero – word used to refer to a driver who goes way too fast, literally “scraping [the street]”
> 
> In PUP, a ham-and-egg sandwich costs 20 pesos, a softdrink 10 pesos, and a coffee would be around 10 pesos as well. One British pound is equivalent to around 62 pesos.
> 
> Also, this fic has been going way out of hand. There will be a third part, but due to school and stuff (would you believe me if I told you these two parts were made in little over five hours of me being bored?), it might be a tad delayed, seeing as I have as of yet to find my writing to be at the stage wherein our captain and student bid each other farewell.

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a prompt fic that ran away from me. I suspect that this will grow to be more monstrous than I ever predicted it would be. I would also say sorry, but I won't. I really, really won't.
> 
> I only recently got into the Cabin Pressure fandom, and yes, of course it is brilliant. I am also the only CP fan in my immediate location (which Filipinos could easily be able to deduce from the setting of this fic!), so yeah.


End file.
